An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

If we could ask  the ancient tree what it has seen  what it has felt  the stories it  could tell us!  To sit underneath the gnarled branches curled up into the sky after years and years! Under a canopy of verdant leaves a coat that changes color with the seasons only to return again! The passing wind lends its words just sit and reflect on whatever it says in the depths of a poet's soul! How wondrous  to hear its voice  how humbling  to listen to its hallowed words  history incarnate!

 a silhouette dark against light  stands on the balcony  the artist draws only what she can see the black pastel crayon  copies a strong outline  but features are lost  who is this mysterious wraith in the night? it does not matter  for we can tell  the unique shadow

Center  breathe deeply block out all distractions  focus  let your energy  flow  through you tap  your inner power  visualize  stay in control  emotion  has its place  time seems to slow strike  hard and true  triumph

The ancients  sought a  magic elixir  for youth  vitality  and eternal life  alchemical formulae penned by wise men from long ago minerals from nature's bounty with such mystical properties of the sun and the moon of the spirit and the soul gold, mercury  cinnabar, lead  the pursuit  of knowledge  can be a  poisonous  endeavor  indeed

Love is strange:  I owe her  my very existence  but accidents happen  and she always  reminded me of it  but filial piety  so strong  and enforced  the guilt  seeped into  my very bones  so maternal love  contradictory  wrapped within  obligation  but she is  still my mother

The soft mellow sound of the horn accompanied by the gentle tinkling of the keys the singer's bold contralto  is smoky like the cigar smoke of a long forgotten age of backroom agreements the murmur of patrons who barely even notice the musical notes held frozen in place A bygone age of leading men and sultry sirens as I sit at the bar and offer a toast to days gone by.